


Confessions of the Lost Boy

by D_Maradine



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Art appreciation, Au of sorts, Blood and Injury, Finding comfort, Flower Language, M/M, Opening Up, Pining, Platonic Romance, possible multiple interpretations, solving a mystery, tragic backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25786024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Maradine/pseuds/D_Maradine
Summary: Goro Akechi is getting tired of living his double life. One night, on the way home, he discovers a beautiful statue hidden in a nearby park. Soon, he finds himself going back to see it quite frequently to undo it's mystery.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	Confessions of the Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired to write this one-shot while listening to/watching this great animatic - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0s0E_WsqvQ  
> The work is not based off it!  
> This fic is purposely written in a way that allows multiple interpretations of what really happened in it, so I would be really happy if you left me a comments with your interpretations! Some of my beta readers' ideas literally blew my mind so I'm super excited to see more!

Goro didn’t really know what pushed him to go out of his way this time. He usually took the same route home from the subway station, too tired to make any stops. And it was only the way back from the _less_ draining of his jobs.

It was already dark outside and the neighborhood; an indistinct residential area that could be found just anywhere in Tokyo, quietly breathed the late autumn air in and out. He lived here for a good few years now, but for some reason he was noticing many things about his surroundings he didn’t really pay much attention to before. The park on his right, for example. It’s alleyways were lit up by occasional street lamps, creating a spooky contrast to the shadows casted around by the trees. Even though they were barren, there was something about them that thickened the darkness to the point it was impossible to pierce it with one’s gaze.

Goro felt a strange, incomprehensible sense of being pulled in, drawn to it. And that’s how he ended up climbing the fence – the park gate was closed already – and jumping down on the other side. He was still wearing his half-formal attire and the thought of the irony of the situation made him smile bitterly to himself. That’s who he was in the end, wasn’t it? A criminal pretending to not be one.

As he had left his briefcase hidden in the bushes outside, he didn’t have additional weight bothering him on this small detour. He spotted some structure nearby, a poor attempt at growing a wannabe labyrinth. It consisted of a few crossing paths not complicated enough for even a blind man to get lost in. He thought about it with a tinge of regret, as something in his heart quietly wished for escape into the hideout where no one could find him. No one, even his own conscience.

He dived into the darkness between the forever green walls and after turning right then left, arrived at what seemed to be a sort of alcove. His heart jumped for a moment at the sudden view opening before him – there appeared to be someone else standing in the alcove, but it was just a statue, warmly lit by a single garden light.

Goro walked up to the statue, strangely fascinated by it. He felt like a moth drawn in by the flame. He wondered if he would burn himself.

When he stopped in front of it and took a closer look, he felt his breath catching in his chest. The statue was simply a masterpiece. Goro wasn’t knowledgeable about art, but even he could tell this much. The details were astonishing.

The statue was the one of a young, beautiful man. Soft, curly locks of hair framed his delicate features like a caring lover cupping their partner’s face in their hands. His eyes were round and gentle, framed with the hints of eyelashes that made them look like a fawn’s. They regarded him with warmth and understanding. A small smile seemed to play on his lips, innocent and loving. It was a face of an angel or, at least, of a person who knew no hatred.

His slim neck was bare, same as his shoulders, a foreign robe, be it Greek or Roman, draped around his body, the fabric's visible frailty captured in the marble, fluttering in delicate waves as it flowed lower and lower, brushed by the wind forever trapped in time.

The statue wasn’t placed in any dramatic pose, it was in contrary rather static, the silhouette soft but confident, unwavering like the core of the world itself. Only one of his hands was different, reaching out gently, as if encouraging him to take it. It was already occupied though – not that he would be willing to place his hand in that of a statue in the first place – as a single flower rested on it’s palm like an offering. It was a single stem crowned with a frothy consisting of small, delicate flowers, together resembling a subtle lace.

Goro just stood there, admiring it for a few long minutes, then suddenly realized what he was doing. Wasting time. He shook his head with a sigh, trying to get rid of the sleepy, soothing feeling the statue implemented in him. He made his way home.

* * *

For the next few days he kept finding his thoughts constantly floating back to the statue whenever his mind got off his current tasks at the day work. The unexplainable longing made him lose his focus and, in the end, abandon his autopilot-like routines.

A week later, not able to bear it anymore, he finally gave up and let his feet carry him to the alcove built of hedge and vines. He looked at the young man’s face reproachfully, as if he was at least a devil whispering in his mind to come back here.

Goro was working daily as a police investigator, and, thinking of himself as a down-to-earth person, decided to look for a logical explanation behind the reason it kept occupying his thoughts. Maybe there was a mystery to solve here and he was sensing it somewhere on the edge of consciousness.

He once again looked closely at the statue, circled it, looked again from the longer distance away, but there was nothing unusual about it, save for its exceptional beauty. The only new thing he noticed, almost accidentally, as it reflected the light of the setting sun, was the gilded plate with the sculptor's name and the title of his work. It was laying abandoned in a wilting grass a few steps from the statue, as if someone violently ripped it off the pedestal and threw it away to be forgotten.

Goro read the neatly carved letters with a sense of relief that surprised even him, as one of his primary theses was that the statue has been placed here as a memento for the dead. The text informed that the sculptor’s name was Yusuke Kitagawa, and the work was simply named as ‘Flower Confidant’.

Goro wanted to consider the case closed, but knew it’s not that easy, as the detective in him had gotten fully engaged in the mystery already. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the flower and the gilded plate.

* * *

On his way to work the next morning he stopped by the florist in the Shibuya’s underground mall, hoping it will be open at this time already. It was because, as the florist explained to him when he noted the fact with surprise, a lot of people found themselves in the need to pick up flowers for someone as a gift on different occasions every day. The comment made him feel slightly embarrassed, as he only now realized that coming here with a more selfish business rather than buying something might be a bit inappropriate.

Goro was a good actor though, so before stating his real purpose, he looked around at the variety of small plants, seemingly easy to take care of. Even though it started as a part of the bluff, he realized it’s not such a bad idea to add a touch of green on his working desk at the headquarters.

He picked one and paid for it, then took out his phone.

“Actually, there is something else you could assist me with,” he said apologetically and the florist looked up at him curiously and a bit flustered, rosy blush blooming on her cheeks as she noticed him waving his phone. “I took a picture of this flower recently, but since I’m not knowledgeable on the topic, it’s hard to find it’s name,” he explained quickly while opening the gallery and searching for the picture he took yesterday, not particularly wishing for the young woman to get the wrong idea.

“Oh, “ she said with a tinge of disappointment in her voice, “please let me see if I can be of assistance.”

He passed the phone to her carefully, trying to avoid touching both the screen and florist’s hand. The surprise on her face was apparent.

“Is this a sculpture?” she exclaimed with sincere admiration. “It’s so well-made!”

Goro nodded, for some reason not eager to give any further explanations. Something in him didn’t wish for others to take the same interest in the statue he did. “Do you perhaps know this flower?”

This time she nodded and gave the phone back to him, smoothed her working apron. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s called the bishop’s flower. It’s not too fancy of a plant so you wouldn’t find it here, but I’m pretty sure it had some medicinal purposes.” She tapped one finger on her chin, thinking. “It might actually be the reason behind it’s meaning in the flower language.”

“The flower language?” Goro looked at her with new interest. Maybe it was the hint he was searching for?

“It’s meaning,” she explained, “is bound to healing, refuge of sorts. It bears a promise of warmth, a haven or sanctuary.” She hesitated for a moment. “But it can also mean a fantasy.”

“What kind of fantasy?” Goro frowned.

“I’m actually not sure myself.” The florist shrugged lightly. “I think it’s for an individual to interpret.”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Goro spent an inappropriate amount of time at work trying to interpret the different meanings of fantasy. Was it something unattainable? A dream? Or, with the connection to the whole refuge concept, a means to escape reality? He didn’t draw any conclusions however, instead caught daydreaming a few times by the fellow investigators.

They didn’t pass an opportunity to make fun of him, wondering if he found himself a nice lady to date, but he ignored them skillfully, rolling eyes in his mind at how one-tracked and simple men’s brains could be. The joke was so old already it was starting to evolve from tiring to irritating.

By nightfall his co-workers had the whole plan to make him spill the beans prepared already, and the looks and exclamations of disappointment as he politely refused the invitation to go drinking and simply made his way home, invited a satisfied smile to his face.

It wasn’t the case that Goro was antisocial. He just didn’t feel attraction towards human relationships anymore. After all, there was a limit to how many times a human being could be hurt and betrayed before losing their faith in others and shutting their heart off.

He was about to go inside the park when his phone rang. It seemed like he was needed in his other job tonight.

* * *

The sun wasn’t up yet but the sky was taking on the rosy shade of awakening day already when he climbed the fence and jumped down on the other side of it.

There was no bench nor any other place to sit down by the statue so he just sat down on the grass heavily, trying to ignore the coldness of the ground seeping in through the fabric of his clothes.

He was tired. Really, really tired.

And yet, when he finally decided to get up and go home, more than an hour had passed already.

* * *

Before he realized it, Goro formed a habit of going to see the statue daily. He went at different times of day and night, sometimes for hours. No matter how long he looked at the Flower Confidant, he didn’t seem to be getting bored of his enchanting beauty.

A month has passed, autumn turned into winter, and he almost completely forgot about his original goal of solving whatever mystery was there to discover. Instead, he started finding a sense of tranquility in those silent, uninterrupted-by-anything visits. That is, until something unexpected happened.

It was a cold yet sunny day, one of those which more or less purposely deceive people while they look out of the window, thinking it got warmer, soon to find out it was the opposite. He didn’t have work that day so after a brief breakfast he pulled his winter jacket and scarf out from the wardrobe and carefully dressed himself. He hesitated for a moment before changing his usual gloves for warmer ones, and left his apartment.

Goro emerged from the poor excuse of a labyrinth and stopped abruptly. There was someone there, in front of the statue. When he thought about it, it shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise. It was a public park, anyone could visit it and go around, anyone could have discovered the alcove with the hidden treasure in it. And yet, he felt slightly disturbed, as if a stranger barged into his house without taking off their shoes and proceeded to do as they pleased.

He briefly considered retreating for now and coming back later, but the stranger already took notice of him.

“Oh,” he said with a deep and calm, melodious voice. “I didn’t expect I would meet someone here.”

Goro bit his tongue as a scornful reply formed on his lips, ready to express his irritation for him. He swallowed the words, nodding in silence instead.

The man didn’t seem to consider this form of greeting rude, apparently, or at least worth leaving a comment on it, as he turned his head – and attention – back to the statue with a thoughtful hum.

The stranger was tall, probably even a bit taller than Goro, but also thinner, his long limbs holding some graceful elegance to them. The only odd part about him was the unmatched, very colorful and long scarf loosely wrapped around his neck. An artist, Goro thought.

“Are you his friend, too?” The man asked, gesturing at the statue and smiling with fondness. Definitely an artist, and a pretty eccentric one at that, Goro decided. He didn’t answer, just walked up a bit closer and, standing arm to arm with the weirdo, followed his gaze. The stranger shot him a look, his eyes still smiling, then focused back on the statue. “I come here sometimes to talk with him,” he said. Goro wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“With the statue?” he asked, trying very hard to not sound mocking. It either worked, or the artist didn’t mind.

“Yes,” he answered simply and crouched down, looking at something closer to the ground, then exclaimed quietly with surprise. “Have you been taking care of him?”

Goro looked down to see man’s pale, slim fingers kindly brushing the gilded plate. He stood back up after a moment. “I’m thankful for that.” He bowed slightly, continuing his one-sided conversation. “Sometimes it feels like no one is coming to visit him anymore.”

Something in the words triggered a certain thought in Goro’s mind. “Pardon me for asking so openly,” he started carefully, “but are you perhaps the sculptor, Yusuke Kitagawa?”

The man looked at him with a slight surprise. “Indeed, I am.” He nodded in confirmation.

“I hope it’s not rude, then,” it was easy for Goro to fall into the rhythm of polite banter. He played this game for over half of his life, after all, “if I ask you to tell me more about it? What’s the mystery behind it?”

“The mystery?” Kitagawa pondered, taking one hand up to his chin. “I suppose you can tell he does have a mysterious air around him.”

The artist was speaking of the statue as if it was an actual person, Goro noted, not really sure what to think about it. And apparently he said it out loud, as the man next to him chuckled quietly, not taking offense for his words. He avoided commenting on it, though.

“And what do you think?” he asked instead, not bothering to ask for Goro’s name but at the same using casual speech, like they have been friends for a long time. When he only shrugged in answer, the artist chuckled again. “I think if, in your opinion, there is a mystery to it, then there is, indeed, one.”

Goro blinked, feeling an incoming headache. “What do you mean?” he asked, also deciding to drop formalities.

“I mean,” Kitagawa mused, “that the art is not something that can be interpreted without relation to individual context created individually by its receiver.”

“But aren’t you the creator of it?” Goro was starting to get irritated at the hazy remarks. It wasn’t getting him closer to resolving the mystery at all.

The artist looked at him with amusement. “I am merely the bearer of hands that gave him form. I’m not the one who put the soul into him.”

Goro shook his head in resignation and turned on his heel to leave.

“Maybe you should ask him, instead.” Kitagawa called out after him, with all seriousness, and Goro couldn’t resist rolling his eyes as he quickened his pace.

He really couldn’t deal with lunatics.

* * *

The next day, or night, actually, he found himself standing in front of the Flower Confidant, pacing nervously like a maiden in love just before the confession.

“This is stupid,” he tried to convince himself, out loud to add confidence to the words. It didn’t work, however, as the hesitation in his voice only made his uncertainty even more apparent.

He looked at the young man’s face in a search for guidance. The statue didn’t have any supportive tips to offer.

Goro sighed loudly and crouched down, rubbing his face with both hands then taking them away, giving them a slightly pouty look. “I must be going insane,” he informed them to prove the point. They also didn’t seem eager to give any answers.

He took a deep, calming breath and stood up again, setting his mind, cleared his throat.

“So, uh, what’s your secret?” he asked the statue conversationally, pretending it’s not the most stupid thing he did in life. There was no response. Well, of course there was no response. It’s a statue. He waited for a few seconds and repeated the question, this time louder and with more confidence. It didn’t work this time either. There was no miracle, no talking statues.

Goro groaned angrily as he turned his back on the pretty but uninformative piece of art. Why did he even listen to that weirdo in the first place? Maybe the guy was doing this to everyone, pulling their leg so they make fools of themselves. If so, he certainly achieved his goal with Goro, who now felt like a total idiot.

“This is stupid,” he said again, but it sounded bland and somewhat disappointed even to him.

He allowed himself to take one last look behind before making his way home.

* * *

For the next two weeks he kept returning to ask the Flower Confidant questions. All of them circled around the same topic, sometimes it went down to Goro playing a sort of game with himself in which he kept rephrasing the same one question in as many different ways as possible.

Nothing seemed to work, there was no trace or hope of finding some magical keyword that would make the statue more alive – or, for a good record more dead – than it already was. It didn’t suddenly blink or move it’s hand, the flower didn’t wither right before his eyes.

It was on an especially cold and cloudy dawn that Goro sat down lifelessly at the feet of the statue and leaned his back against its legs. He was drained, exhausted to the core, and he didn’t have his scarf as he was only now coming back from his night job, such an accessory too distinctive to assure the safety of his identity not getting found out in case something went wrong. He didn’t feel like talking today.

No, it wasn’t that. He didn’t feel like asking today, was a more correct statement. So he talked instead.

“You are always listening to my questions, but you never answer,” he stated, just to say something, hoping after the first step it would only get easier. There was no reproach in his voice. “Maybe it’s because you don’t trust me. Or maybe it’s me, who doesn’t trust you.” He didn’t think too deeply about the words leaving his mouth, as it felt strangely _right_ and natural. Soon they started to flow out like a river. “My name is Goro Akechi,” he said. “I’m twenty seven. And I’m an assassin.”

There was a silence as if the world held its breath, but, in truth, the alcove was always as silent.

Then he started telling the Flower Confidant his story, everything he remembered, everything he was able to recall even so slightly. It started with the memories of his childhood, surprisingly not as hazy as he would think they would be. He spoke of living in poverty, hardships his mother experienced as a single parent without being able to land a stable job. He spoke of happiness and warmth she had given him, easily the best years of his life. He noted how he never felt lonely back then. The loneliness came later.

That first night ended with the mention of his mother’s death. But the story continued the next day, and next, and the one after that. He kept returning, pouring his heart and soul out to the beautiful, voiceless man at whose feet he was sitting, sometimes kneeling.

He told him everything, never skipping any details. Of his young days spent being passed between distant relatives, then facilities, then strangers, never feeling truly at home again. Of his first friendship, first kiss with a girl, second with a boy, of his first betrayal. Of finding out the truth about his father, the goal he set for himself to take revenge on him.

Sometimes he talked about years in a few short sentences and then about days for long hours. Sometimes he spoke in experiences, sometimes about his emotions, and then, sometimes he laughed, other times just sat there, silently crying, which he didn’t expect he was still able to do.

The Flower Confidant was never complaining. Never judging him nor telling him what he already knew, how much of a failure as a human he was.

At first, Goro hesitated to speak more about his night job. It was not something he was proud of, and if anything, it was his greatest regret. When he first got involved in his father’s scheming he was still merely a teenager, full of anger and hatred, empty of faith in people and society. He thought he doesn’t care about anything anymore and that he is ready to sacrifice anything to reach his goal. And it really was like this, for the longest time. He emptied his mind of compassionate thoughts and heart of regret, lived day by day, surviving every hardship with one goal in mind.

But as the years passed, there was no opportunity to exact his revenge, the father he despised always somehow a few steps ahead of him. And, some time ago, Goro started getting tired. Tired of the charade of pretended loyalty, of forcing himself not to think or to think about things in certain ways, of the blood on his hands that at some point seemed to not get off them anymore.

“That’s when I started wearing gloves,” he said quietly, smiling bitterly to himself. It was the middle of the winter, cold, but not enough for the rain to turn into snow. The first drop landed on Flower Confidant’s cheekbone and ran down his face like a tear. Goro looked at his beautiful face and forever gentle eyes and tenderly wiped the water of his cheek with the gloved hand. “And now you are crying for me too?” he whispered. “We can’t have that. Here, you are cold probably, considering your attire,” he chuckled as he took the scarf off and wrapped it around the other’s neck. “I hope it will keep you warm while I’m not here.”

* * *

Goro struggled to catch his breath as the life kept slowly seeping out of him through his fingers, glued to the gunshot wound on his side. He pressed at it desperately, trying to buy himself just a few more minutes, knowing that it’s most likely when his poor excuse of a life will finally come to an end. He was almost there, though, he needed just a little more, so he prayed to whatever god was willing to listen, to take those few small acts of kindness he committed in his life into consideration and let him have a few more minutes, few more breaths. There was still something he needed to do before he was gone from the face of the Earth for good.

It was snowing, and the red trail of blood marked the way behind him brightly, like the proof of his mortality, as he fell to his knees before the Flower Confidant.

“He found out I wanted to quit.” His voice was barely a whisper, nearly lost in the freezing air. “And then he sent his agents after me to get rid of me. He didn’t want an inconvenient witness to walk around freely, ready to uncover his scheming at any given time.” He laughed sharply and humorlessly and folded his body in pain, burying the forehead in the snow. A parody of the bow, the most he could manage to give his sanctuary.

He took another shaky breath, more painful than any until now and coughed up some blood. His vision was starting to get clouded, but he wasn’t done here yet. With the power of sheer will he struggled to get up, supporting himself on the smooth marble, fingers desperately catching in the crooks of sculpted fabric as he climbed his way up to stand up straight and proud for the last time.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out weakly, struggling to complete even such short sentences. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before. If there is another life in which we could meet. I would like to live it with you.”

Flower Confidant regarded him silently, expression forever full of warmth and kindness even for someone like him. Always giving him strength, waiting for him to accept a second chance. Reaching to him with the outstretched hand, encouraging him to have faith.

Goro raised his hand slowly.

“I figured out your secret,” he said and the wind took his words and carried them somewhere far away.

He took the sculpted flower off Flower Confidant’s hand and let it fall down to the ground.

“I figured it out.”

He put his own hand in its place.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

The strong, steady beep on the EKG machine’s monitor could be heard even through the commotion in the hospital room.

Goro struggled to open his eyes against the sharp light of the day, and then let his head fall to the side, his gaze drawn towards the window. It wasn’t closed, letting the gentle breeze in together with the fresh smell of grass and flowers. He noticed a cloud of pink outside, the blooming sakura tree. It was spring.

“Akechi-san?” Came an unfamiliar voice, but it was the one pleasing to the ears, soothing and quiet. Goro closed his eyes, thinking if doing it would assure that the voice won’t stop talking to him. “Akechi-san, can you hear me?” There was a hint of a smile in it now, like his thoughts got found out, and he realized he was smiling too.

He opened his eyes more easily this time and looked at the man who kept talking to him. It was a young, beautiful man. Soft, curly locks of black hair framed his delicate features like a caring lover cupping their partner’s face in their hands. His eyes were stormy grey, round and gentle, framed with the dark eyelashes that made them look like a fawn’s. They regarded him with warmth and understanding. Small smile he noticed in his voice still played on his lips, innocent and loving. It was a face of an angel or, at least, of a person who knew no hatred. Goro felt his eyes watering up when looking in the face of his Flower Confidant, but this time real, flesh and bone, and definitely not voiceless.

“My name is Ren Amamiya,” he introduced himself. “And I’m a cognitive psientist that works with this hospital. I’m happy to finally meet you in person.”

Goro felt his lips curling up into a genuine smile. “So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on:
> 
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/Mara_dine  
> Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mara-dine


End file.
